


The Fabric Of Their Friendship

by afteriwake



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus Bell is paid a visit by the man he's replacing, Javier Abreu, before he starts working under Captain Gregson. That one encounter leads to a friendship Marcus didn't expect with someone who understands exactly what it's like to work with Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fabric Of Their Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venusinthenight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusinthenight/gifts).



> Written for **venusinthenight** at Holmestice on Livejournal, who wanted fic explaining Abreu's departure. She liked it, so I hope the rest of you do too. Title comes from a quote by Dorothy Parker (“Constant use had not worn ragged the fabric of their friendship.”). I felt it was very fitting for this story.

“So. You’re the kid who’s replacing me.”

Marcus Bell looked up at the imposing figure standing in front of his desk. Detective Javier Abreu was kind of a loner in the NYPD. Behind his back certain cops thought if there was ever going to be a cop who would turn his gun on his fellow officers it would be him. Marcus thought it was bullshit. Just because someone wanted to get away from the job when they weren’t actually working didn’t mean they’d be another workplace killer. He hadn’t expected a visit from the man, and he didn’t know what to expect. He decided to be as unruffled as possible. “Way I was told, it wasn’t replacing. You’re getting a promotion.”

“Yeah, I’m going up a grade, but that’s because I can’t work here anymore.” Javier sat down in the chair next to Marcus’s desk, the one normally reserved for suspects and victims he needed to talk to. “Captain Gregson is a good man. He doesn’t need outside help. But because he’s working with Sherlock Holmes, I had to get out.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair slightly. He’d heard of Sherlock Holmes, of how he worked, how much the regular cops despised him. Before he’d taken the assignment in this precinct he’d done his homework. He’d learned as much as he could about the man, but it still didn’t seem to be sufficient. “Why?” Marcus asked after a moment.

Javier took his pointer finger and circled it around his head. “Guy may be brilliant, but he’s kinda crazy, you know? Not all there. He disappeared for a while. No one knows where he went. Personally I think he was locked up in a psych ward somewhere.” He lowered his hand. “Captain Gregson won’t listen to reason. Holmes is trouble, I’m telling you. I know this is a good post, but keep that in mind.”

“You took this other assignment to get away from Holmes,” Marcus said slowly.

“Hey, a promotion is a promotion,” Javier said with a shrug. “I looked at it as a nice bonus it got me out of here.” He shrugged slightly. “If Holmes starts driving you crazy, look me up. You’ll need all the help you can get.” With that, Javier got up and clapped Marcus on the shoulder before heading away. Marcus turned in his chair and watched him leave the precinct. Maybe he wasn’t going to go postal on all of them, but there was still something odd about the guy.

\--

The first case with Sherlock Holmes, that was the one that everyone said would stick with you, influence how you looked at the man for the rest of your interactions with him. And Marcus knew the guy was going to drive him nuts by the time one of the two of them stopped working with the NYPD. He just hoped Sherlock left first. By the end of the afternoon he was having daydreams of Sherlock being extradited back to England, leaving him in peace.

He was still a rookie detective by the standards of most of the NYPD. Most guys who’d been around as long as Javier looked at guys like Marcus as though they were babies, kids still learning the ropes. Didn’t matter he was a detective, he was still too new to know better. And Holmes was making him reconsider his place in the NYPD, not to mention his sanity. As the day wore on, Marcus got more frustrated, close to snapping. He held himself in check, though, because he didn’t want to lose this post.

He waited until his shift was done, then he asked around about where he could find Javier. One of the other guys gave him the name of a bar in Queens, and so that was where Marcus went first. Javier was sitting on one of the stools, sipping a bottle of beer and watching the game on TV. Marcus stood at the other end of the bar for a moment, then made his way to the empty seat to his right. He sat down and the bartender looked at him. “Jack and Coke,” Marcus said.

“You must have worked with Holmes for the first time today,” Javier said, not turning his attention away from the game.

“Yeah,” Marcus said with a slight nod.

“It’s on me,” Javier told the bartender as Marcus pulled out his wallet to pay. “So’s the next one.”

“Thanks,” Marcus said with a nod. He stared at the TV screen until the bartender put the drink in front of him. He took a long drink. “I think you’re right about Holmes. He’s nuts.”

“He’s got issues,” Javier said with a nod. “Could be anything, I think. Probably bipolar at the least.” He took another sip of his beer. “How bad was it?”

“I wanted to slug him in the face,” Marcus said.

“It just gets worse from here on out,” Javier said. “You have to be strong. Just remember Holmes isn’t worth losing your career over.” He stood up and put twenty dollars on the bar. “Drinks are on me till this runs out.”

“Leaving already?” Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I got kids to go home to. You got drinks to drink.” Javier clapped him on the shoulder again. “Don’t need company to numb the day. See ya later, kid.” And with that he left. Marcus watched for a moment, then turned back to his drink, picking it up and finishing it off. He picked up the twenty and ordered another round. Maybe Javier was right about this.

\--

After Sherlock cleared his name things…changed. He didn’t think Sherlock would care. But he did. He could have turned over the evidence he’d found, gotten Marcus thrown out of the force. But he hadn’t. He’d believed Marcus was innocent, and he’d set about trying to find the real culprit. Marcus didn’t know how to take that, but with the near death of his brother he’d had bigger issues to deal with. When he was finally sure his brother was going to be fine he went to the bar in Queens. He’d gone there a lot since that first case with Sherlock. Sometimes Javier was there, sometimes he wasn’t, but Marcus would sit down and have a beer and watch the game whether Javier was there or not. Didn’t matter the sport; there was something comforting about sitting in a bar, drink in hand, watching the game. He knew other cops there and sometimes they would talk, commiserate on Sherlock Holmes, and then he’d finish his drink and head home. It seemed routine now, and Marcus liked routine.

Tonight Javier was there. There were other guys he recognized, but they all shied away. Of course. He’d been framed for murder by another cop, a jealous ex-lover. No matter what, there was always going to be a taint on his name now. People were going to associate him with this for the rest of his career. No matter how hard he worked, how far he climbed up the ladder, today was always going to be associated with him. Beer wasn’t going to be enough tonight. “Shot of Jack,” he said when he got to the bar and slid into the seat next to Javier. 

“Tough day, kid,” Javier said before taking a sip of his beer. As always, he didn’t turn away from the screen.

“Yeah, I know,” Marcus said. He pulled out his wallet but Javier shook his head, slapping a twenty down on the bar. Marcus raised his eyebrow. “Everyone else is avoiding me like the plague.”

“Everyone else is fucking stupid,” Javier said with a slight shrug. “Women are crazy. Female cops are just worse. They’ve got the brains and the guns to do serious damage to any man who crosses them. Everyone else’ll remember that soon enough.” He took another sip of his beer. “Heard your brother got caught in the crossfire.”

“Yeah,” Marcus said with a nod as the bartender came with his shot. He slammed it back, then moved the twenty over and added twenty of his own. The bartender nodded and took the money before pouring another shot. “He’s going to live, but it was close.”

“Heard Holmes was the one who solved it,” Javier said.

“Yeah,” Marcus said with a nod as he picked up his second shot.

Javier turned to look at him. “Maybe I was wrong about Holmes.”

Marcus had just been about to down the shot when he stopped. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think he has issues. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was kinda crazy. But he went out and saved your ass. I think he might be human after all. Or at the very least he likes you. I know for a fact he wouldn’t have done it for me, or anyone else in the force. You’re a lucky bastard, Bell.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “Maybe I am.”

Javier got up. Any time he left before Marcus there was a hand clapped on the shoulder, a gesture of solidarity. Tonight Javier did the same thing, but his hand lingered a moment. He squeezed his shoulder slightly. Tonight it was a sign of solidarity but also a gesture of comfort. “See you later, kid.” And with that, the hand was off and Javier was on his way out the door. Marcus looked down at the shot and then tipped it back, swallowing it. He set his glass down. Today was a turning point, he knew that. Maybe he should count his blessings that Sherlock had taken an interest in him. But for right now, there was a shot being poured and that meant there was alcohol to give him respite for the night, and the thoughts could keep till morning.

\--

“I’m sorry.”

Marcus didn’t turn to look. He was sitting in Javier’s spot. Javier wouldn’t be coming back. Wouldn’t be there to clap a hand on his shoulder after a rough day at work. Wouldn’t be there to drop a twenty to cover a drink. Javier wasn’t alive anymore, killed by some crazy man’s bullet as he was trying to do what he loved best, work a case. The funeral had just ended an hour ago and Marcus had headed to the only place he’d felt where he’d gotten to know a fellow cop who was as misunderstood as the man talking to him. “Joan won’t like it if you’re in a bar,” he said finally.

“I know, but you are here, and I felt it best if I relayed my condolences to you in person,” Sherlock said, sitting in the seat Marcus had sat in every week for the last year. “Detective Abreu was your friend, was he not?”

“Don’t know if we were friends,” Marcus said with a slight shrug. “We were drinking buddies at the very least. Guess we might have been friends.”

“Then I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, man,” Marcus said. He’d bought the half-filled bottle of Jack that the bartender had been using, and he reached over for it to fill up his shot glass. “First time he ever talked to me was about you.”

“I suppose he was giving you a warning,” Sherlock said.

“More like friendly advice,” Marcus said, picking up his shot glass. He’d lost count of how many he’d had in the last hour. Maybe six or seven, making this his seventh or eighth. He tilted it back and let the drink flow down his throat. “Told me if I needed to vent to find him.”

“And did you?” Sherlock asked.

Marcus nodded, still not looking at his friend. Because really, whether he liked it or not Sherlock was more than a consult, more than a colleague. He’d become a friend. And it felt good that his friend was looking in on him. “Came here the first day you and I worked together. He bought me a Jack and Coke. Then he left me to drink it in peace.”

“And I take it that that became a ritual of sorts for the two of you?”

“Yeah. He didn’t always pay for the drinks, but if it was especially bad he’d slap a twenty on the bar.” Marcus looked at the bottle of whiskey and his shot glass. Getting stupidly drunk was probably not the best idea, but he was mourning a hole in his life. Doing it in front of a recovering addict didn’t appeal to him though. Wasn’t fair to Sherlock. He finally turned to look at the man. “If he’d been implicated in a murder like I was, would you have gone as far to clear his name?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, probably not.”

“So there’s something about me that’s special.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “I see in you the same hunger I had in me, the same drive. I think, if you had not chosen to become a cop, you could have been an excellent consulting detective.”

“You know no such position exists, right?” Marcus said with a slight grin.

“I’m aware of that, yes.” He looked at Marcus. “I can see you would like to get back to drinking. I’ll leave you in peace.”

Marcus watched him get up, and for a moment Sherlock’s hand hovered over his shoulder. Then he set it down and squeezed. Marcus looked back at the bottle of whiskey and the empty shot glass for a moment as Sherlock began to walk out of the bar, and after a second he grabbed his jacket and got up. “Hey, Holmes. Wait up a second.”

Sherlock stopped and turned to look at him. “Yes, Detective Bell?”

“I think I’ve had enough to drink right now. I could probably use some food. Want to call Joan and see if she’s hungry?”

“I don’t have to call. She’s right outside,” Sherlock said with a slight grin.

“Good to know she trusts you,” Marcus said with a wider grin in return. “And you might as well call me Marcus. The rest of my friends do.”

“Very well, Marcus. You may address me as Sherlock if you so choose,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I know a good Italian place down the street, if that will suffice.”

“That would be great.” With that, Sherlock and Marcus left the bar, and Marcus knew that today, at least, he wouldn’t need a drink to get through the night. He had friends for that now.


End file.
